To explore and learn more about nature writing - “writing that honours the connection between the natural world and human experience, that understands them as part of a whole, that reckons with the complex forces of place and landscape in human lives” - necessitates a consideration of our own relationship with nature. For some, nature is ‘out there’, something Other than ourselves, something to be viewed from afar, tamed, even controlled. For others, we are not apart from nature, but a part of it, shaped and formed by it, influenced and guided by it on both a conscious and subconscious level.

According to activist and writer Satish Kumar, “If we can have a holistic view of soil, soul and society, if we can understand the interdependence of all living beings, and understand that all living creatures – from trees to worms to humans – depend on each other, then we can live in harmony with ourselves, with other people and with nature.” It is this approach than many new nature writers adopt, but in the evolution of nature writing, it is rare that this type of relationship with the natural world can be identified, and it is our changing perception of the world that has greatly impacted this genre of writing, resulting in what is now often referred to as new nature writing.

In Granta magazine, Jason Cowley suggests that new nature writers “share a sense that we are devouring our world, that there is simply no longer any natural landscape or ecosystem that is unchanged by humans. But they don’t simply want to walk into the wild, to rhapsodize and commune: they aspire to see with a scientific eye and write with literary effect.” As a result, work is written in first person - the writer must be present in the story - and are often focused on local or parochial landscapes. We are beginning, finally, to enter into a different relationship with nature - that we are part of nature, that yes, we can view the natural world through a microscope and discover fascinating things, but that we must also understand we are a part of this cycle: what we see has an impact on humanity, and humanity has an impact on what we see.

Writer Lydia Peele offers this insightful viewpoint to close: “The new nature writing... rather than being pastoral or descriptive or simply a natural history essay, has got to be couched in stories... where we as humans are present. Not only as observers, but as intrinsic elements... we’ve got to reconnect ourselves to our environment and fellow species in every way we can, every change we have... it is our great challenge in the twenty-first century to remake the connection. I think our lives depend on it.”

Writers, bloggers, course creators, makers and creatives in general are, above all else, storytellers. In the small business sphere, people don’t just buy the thing you’re selling, they buy the story behind the product or service: they buy your story. You are in control of what that story is, how much of it you want to share, and the form it takes. That might be the ‘about’ page on your website, a post you wrote about where your inspiration comes from, the podcast interview in which you shared your creative process, even your Instagram bio. Ernest Hemingway is said to have written a story in just six words - “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” - proof, if it were needed, that it’s not about writing reams; brevity can be just as powerful.

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“Stories matter because humans are narrative creatures. It’s not simply that we like to tell stories, and to listen to them: it’s that narrative is hard-wired into us. It’s a function of our biology, and the way our brains have evolved over time. We make sense of the world and fashion our identities through the sharing and passing on of stories. And so the stories we tell ourselves about the world and our place in it, and the stories that are told to us by others about the world and our place in it, shape not just our own lives, but the world around us.”

SHARON BLACKIE, IF WOMEN ROSE ROOTED

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Writing and sharing our stories is also an essential step to connection, with ourselves (increasing our self-awareness) and also with our communities. Some of the narratives we weave are unconsciously done; we don’t give thought to every single word choice in a verbal conversation, for instance, or perhaps in every reply on social media. Some narratives are just for us, the stories we tell ourselves about the world and how we feel. Many of these stories are fictitious, or may blend the boundaries between fact and our constructed reality. There are some, however, that we consciously tell, with careful thought, structure and meaning behind what we’re trying to express. These, too, may be fiction - the fairy tales we tell our children, the anecdotes we share about a film we’ve been watching - but usually the stories we craft come from a place of truth, of honesty, of integrity. These are the stories that others believe and repeat, the stories that have power to invoke change and transformation, kindness and humility. These are the stories that are lying in wait for us to tell, if we are brave enough.

Sometimes, being a storyteller is an act of radical defiance. We can’t all tell our stories with ease. I am in the privileged position as a white, heterosexual woman that if I tell stories, I won’t experience the resistance, even violence that many in this world are subjected to. For women journalists in Muslim countries, for instance, sharing stories can result in being silenced and harassed, or even imprisonment, as well as “online harassment and blackmail, defamation of character, unwanted advances in exchange for access, and the expectation to ask softball questions of officials, among other problems.” (source) In an article for the New York Times titled ‘Black Journalists Are Exhausted’, Patrice Peck writes: “it’s an especially peculiar time to be a black journalist. The pandemic has laid bare many of the same racial inequities that generations of black journalists have been covering since 1827 when the Freedom’s Journal birthed the black press. While this pandemic is unique, the waves of trauma crashing down on my community are not.” (I encourage you to read the whole article here.) Storytelling may be the crux of humanity, but while it occupies that space it also exposes the truth about our world and its injustices, which make telling, sharing, or transforming our stories much more complex and problematic for those who experience these on a daily basis.

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"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you."

MAYA ANGELOU

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Stories can be the same, but storytellers are distinctive. We may feel as though everyone out there is peddling the same tale, but that doesn’t matter. No-one else will be telling it quite like you, and it is this unique approach that gives storytelling longevity. Christopher Booker argued there are only seven basic plots - overcoming the monster, rags to riches, the quest, voyage and return, comedy, tragedy, rebirth - and that each of these can be identified in every story ever told, but somehow there are almost 130 million books that have been published in the world. To tell our stories, then, it follows that they should come from our individual selves, and knowing ourselves is the first key step to this. How are we to express our story if we do not know who we are?

I encourage you to start with your own story, and tell it to yourself with honesty. It may not be an easy story to hear, and you may never wish to share it with anyone else, but if you have clarity in who you are and in your voice, the next step - sharing this story with others, crafting new stories (whether personal, professional, or somewhere in between), reading the stories of others - will follow much more easily.

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Other resources you might find helpful:

A History of Storytelling Through Pictures - particularly relevant for any makers out there; storytelling doesn’t have to include words.

Storytelling as a Relational and Instrumental Tool for Addressing Racial Justice - read the short introduction, even if you don’t have time to read the whole thing.

Can Science Explain Why Why Tell Stories? - an article from The New Yorker from 2012.

Time To Change - a series of blog posts from people struggling with their mental health during the pandemic - “By sharing our experiences, together we can end the stigma.”

Photo by Debby Hudson on Unsplash

My husband works for a brewery in Nottingham and making the 3 hour round trip from our home in the Lincolnshire Wolds can be exhausting at times. Sometimes he spends the night near work instead, and with evenings spent in a variety of their pubs he has met a diverse set of people, and made many good friends along the way. One such friend is a thespian in his seventies, who can drink you under the table and still be up at 7am to cook breakfast like it never happened. When he began to isolate all those months ago he decided to start writing letters to all the friends and family he could not see and speak to, and we have received such a missive every few weeks since.

Always, the letter is attached to a card or postcard featuring a beautiful image or illustration he thinks we will like, and it is filled with talk of his garden or how he spends his days, all written in his delightfully conversational tone. This connection to the outside world that does not involve technology has been a wonderful contribution to our (and his, I’m sure) sanity as the weeks turn into months and we forget what the freedom we once took for granted felt like.

Letters were once the only way to contact those you were separated from, and even though we can now do so at the click of a button, there is something different to be found in a letter than in a call or a text. The words are more considered, and a story unfolds rather than a back and forth. The writer reveals more of themselves, and despite it only being ink on a page, we feel MORE connected, not less.

Lockdown is easing, and our friend tells us in his latest note that he is looking forward to seeing friends at the pub again soon. Normality may even return to some extent, but the comfort these letters have brought us all will not be forgotten so soon.

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Jessica Townsend creates slow and sustainable fashion at House of Flint. Follow her behind-the-scenes on Instagram here.

Elvis the sheep.

Given the name of this site, it will come as no surprise that we like to create in the countryside, but does that simply refer to a location, or something more?

Creativity requires inspiration, and though the countryside can provide that by the bucket load, it can sometimes be hard to see how. When you’re stuck in a bit of a rut creatively, constantly searching for a muse can seem to do more harm than good. You end up chasing something that can only have real value if found organically.

This is where the countryside, or any part of nature, can help. Immersing yourself in the outdoors not only has a calming effect, it can clear your mind enough to let it wander at will. You may spy a shape or pattern that unconsciously resonates, and sparks a tendril of thought that leads you back to those creative projects.

Years ago, there was a day when I found myself sat on a train, not particularly thinking about work and staring out the window idly. My eyes focused in on a cobweb stuck to the window itself and I thought how beautiful it was. The next morning as I walked the dog I saw another cobweb covered in morning dew and suddenly these two cobwebs became a fabric in my mind, and sparked the beginning of a new project.

I remembered this experience recently when searching for inspiration, and instead of focusing on the work I had to produce, I sketched what surrounded me instead: the bees, the branches and the horns of our sheep, Elvis. The latter took me back to the work I had put to one side, and still inspires aspects of what I do today.

If you want to find your creative muse, think about why you create and what excites you. Find a situation that combines the two and lose yourself in these moments - the inspiration will come.

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Jessica Townsend creates slow and sustainable fashion at House of Flint. Follow her behind-the-scenes on Instagram here.

All images by Lewis and Jessica Townsend

I’ve lived in this same spot in the Lincolnshire Wolds for over half my life, and I’ve KNOWN it is beautiful, sometimes I’ve even looked at it or walked amongst it. But somehow it has taken the enforcement of lockdown to reignite my curiosity and actually appreciate all that is on my doorstep.

With a dog for the last 5 years a daily walk is nothing new, but it had become a time where I would walk through fields upon fields and still my mind would be elsewhere - working or planning. With my husband in tow now he is home too, I find we are looking up, looking around, and seeking to find those little changes in nature happening every day.

Have the swallows arrived? Was that a swift? What blossom is that? What smell is that? Can you hear the sound of the bird that always calls to us from the third tree on the left?

We have become more inquisitive because, for the foreseeable at least, there is nothing beyond this stretch of fields, this little wood, and that tiny stream. Instead of feeling confined and disappointed we cannot explore further, we are instead compelled to explore deeper, and finding it all the richer for looking.

The joy of doing this together has become a silver lining of this time too. Whether it is our walk beneath ever-changing skies, a few hours tinkering in the garden, or moments spent in companionable silence as we eat our evening meal, the fact that we are actually together all day has made us take notice of each other more too.

There is so much sadness and anxiety surrounding us right now, but that does not mean we cannot look for and enjoy what unexpected happiness we can. The one constant in life is that everything must change, and soon our lives may begin to follow our old routines once more. But this time has taught me that I want to enjoy these quiet moments of curiosity every day. When life inevitably moves on, I am determined to take that with me too.

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Jessica Townsend creates slow and sustainable fashion at House of Flint. Follow her behind-the-scenes on Instagram here.

Rosie Anderson, along with her Mum, makes ‘felted sheepskins’ from her farm in rural Devon. We talk to Rosie about her creative business and all that being a creative independent entails. 

Firstly, could you tell us a bit about yourself and Felted Sheepskins?

My Mum and I make ‘Felted Sheepskins’. Felted sheepskins are 100% wool and have no skin. They are sheep-friendly because we only use the shorn fleece to make them. They are also self-renewing as a single sheep will provide us with a new fleece each year. 

I live on a smallholding just on the Devon and Cornwall border and started keeping sheep about five years ago. We needed sheep to graze the land so we bought our first flock – 17 Whiteface Dartmoor ewes. Felted Sheepskins was then created out of a need to add value to keeping the sheep whilst maintaining a creative existence. Since then my flock has expanded and I breed specifically for unique and interesting fleece.

What’s unique about the brand? 

Felted Sheepskins is great for people who love the look and feel of traditional sheepskins but don’t necessarily like the idea of where they come from. People can buy felted sheepskins in the knowledge they are made from animals that are well cared for and that they are made in a sustainable way. In fact, they couldn’t be more natural and I am proud to produce something that is not only really beautiful and practical but something that doesn’t leave an environmental footprint and is animal friendly.

Can you give us an insight into the process of making felted sheepskins? 

It’s really simple in terms of raw materials. All we use is wool, olive soap and water. We take the whole fleece just as it has come off the sheep. We then shape it and add an extra layer of wool on the back to create a felt backing. This is what holds the fleece together. It’s then a process of adding water, soap and agitation. It’s almost like magic the way it works. They are then washed, dried and perfected by tweaking and brushing.

How did you learn the process?  

My husband’s aunt who comes from the Isle of Arran taught us the basic process. She is a very experienced felt maker but she had only ever made a few of these rugs quite some time ago. She came to Devon and taught us what she knew. Since then it’s been a process of trial and error. No two fleeces are the same so it’s a constant learning process.

What's been your favourite commission so far?

We have done a few commissions. It is really nice working with other smallholders as they appreciate the qualities of fleece and have a real love for their sheep. My favourite thing is receiving positive feedback from clients, which makes all the effort seem worthwhile.

Describe your workspace:

I am so lucky to have a great workspace. I was able to roughly convert a bit of barn space into a workshop. It’s just across the yard from my house and is quite rustic. Making the felted sheepskins is a messy process but it has everything I need. It has an old butler sink in the corner, which I reclaimed from the garden, a radio, and a huge window overlooking the countryside. I’m able to work with the sheep fleece whilst looking at the same sheep still wandering around in the fields – that feels good. In the middle of the space sits a huge table where everything is made. I have a corner of the room where I can photograph my finished products. It’s generally pretty messy – I’m not a tidy person and there is always a dog asleep in the corner keeping me company.

Are there any challenges you face running a small independent business in Devon?

It can feel quite isolating and you have to work hard to get the product out there to reach the right audience - I think that’s the hardest part. Being a maker comes naturally but you also have to be a social media expert, salesperson, photographer, business-minded, accountant, writer, and in my case, a farmer. Making is the fun bit but it is really only a small part of the bigger picture.

 What impact would you like to create with your work?

I guess I’d like my work to have an environmental impact as an alternative to a real sheepskin, which are made with harmful chemicals. I’d like to spread the word about wool and what an amazingly natural product it is in a world full of micro plastics.

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Find out more by exploring the felted sheepskins website here.

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Joele Forrester is a digital journalist living in Bristol, although she always makes time to go back to her Dartmoor roots and enjoy the little things in life. When away from the office, you’ll find her walking in the woods, exploring new places close to home or flicking through independent magazines in coffee shops. Follow her on instagram and twitter.

There has always been an ebb and flow to my creativity. I either go completely bonkers with it and barely remember to eat and sleep, or I go the other way and struggle to muster one creative thought in my head. I never used to pay attention to when or why this was, I just assumed it would change or settle eventually, perhaps when my student days were done.

Despite my brief foray into education once more for my masters, I can safely say I have not been a true student for some time, and yet the ebb and flow continues as ever. What has changed is my perception of it. Day to day we all have moments of energy and clarity in what we are doing, just as we all have moments filled with an utter lack of motivation. But I have realised that, for me, there is a bigger picture to take into account: the seasons.

Currently we are in the midst of winter, and in all honesty it has been an almighty struggle for me to get through. In the build up to Christmas I was finishing orders, making presents and running on so much adrenaline I was practically flying. Then came a moment of rest and the inevitable exhaustion hit. Hard. I have been trying to pick myself up again ever since and just not quite managed it. The urge to stay cosy and comfortable has spread beyond my body and to my mind - I just can’t bring myself to think about anything that will require me finding that kind of energy again, the thought itself exhausts me.

Then hope arrived with the sight of a snowdrop.

That first indication that winter will end reminded me that this feeling too will not last. The tendrils of creativity begin to work their way through my mind as I walk among these tiny flowers, and I find myself able to think about projects that have only scared me the last few weeks.

The New Year has never been a good time for me to start new projects or make plans, but spring is so full of new beginnings I cannot help but be enlivened and inspired to start some of my own. Summer has, in the past, been a time of great productivity, running free with the ideas from previous months, and autumn becomes a time of reflection. But I have realised that this first month or so of the year will never be my friend creatively, so why force it? Instead I have focused on other areas in my life, using the time to make a different kind of plan, and knowing that all to soon I will be going bonkers in the studio once more.

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JESSICA TOWNSEND CREATES SLOW AND SUSTAINABLE FASHION AT HOUSE OF FLINT. FOLLOW HER BEHIND-THE-SCENES ON INSTAGRAM HERE.

All images by Sophie Carefull.

The warm sultry days of August see wheat fields in harvest, apples ripe for picking and the youthfulness of summer begin to mature as the days feel ever so noticeably shorter. While sycamore seeds prepare to spiral softly through the wind and tiny acorns are growing steadily, we notice the subtle signs of Autumn gradually appearing. This gentle shift in the seasons can be a particularly inspirational one and the perfect time to rekindle a craft or explore a new skill.

It can be easy to forget the magic in the handmade, in a world where we are surrounded by the mass produced. Joy can be found in all things made by hand, whether it’s the pleasure that comes with successfully knitting your own scarf, or the delight in thrifting the perfect character filled and lovingly handcrafted chair, with a life that began much before your own.

Each crafted piece is about a person; the maker pouring their artistry into creating it, the individual it was attentively made for, and the people it goes on to create stories with throughout its life. The beauty of these items comes from the imagination and skill each craftsman brings to them through a great attention to the smallest of details.

Celebrating all things handcrafted is a rebellion against today’s throwaway society. Collecting beautifully made items that go on to enrich our lives can not only bring us so much happiness, but by doing so can create a world where traditional craft skills will flourish rather than being lost, helping keep us in touch with what is unique about our heritage.

Handmade pieces are forever cherished for being just as individual as each of us. What is more magical than imagining the stories they will go on to gather with generations to come?

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Alice designs and makes consciously crafted jewellery inspired by the beauty of nature at Alice Stewart Jewellery she can also be found over on Facebook and Instagram.

Julie Herbert Adams is a Fine Art Portrait and Floral Photographer, creative Brand Director and trainee florist. Today, she tells us a little about her work and how she finds her inspiration.

Jessica: I’d love for you to start by telling us more about you and your story, who you are and what it is you do?

Julie: I was born in London and was always known as ‘Dolly Daydream’ mainly because my head was always so full of fantasy, creative ideas for makeup and fashion as well as music!  I remember when Bohemian Rhapsody came out in the 1970’s when we lived in a high-rise flat overlooking a park, and I used to listen to it looking at the park pretending that my eyes were cameras and I was the one making the video for the song! However, living in my dream-world suited my calm and very laid-back nature and I wrote lots of fantasy stories often involving magic, fairies and haunted woods.  I really didn’t feel connected or aligned to the bright neon lights, the buzz and the brashness of living in London and remember taking my little brothers on a bus to the nearest woods and fields in Farnborough, Kent where I felt at home and believed that magic was everywhere.  I escaped to the countryside as soon as I could and saw the world at once through open eyes, ears and heart.

My creativity has always been such an integral part of who I am and I have always found writing to be incredibly therapeutic in good and bad times.  My life has been quite colourful in the opportunities that I have received and the decisions that I have made so after working in the healing and care-sector, I moved to the Middle East in 2008 with my husband and children.  Here, I worked as a brand and marketing director creating a variety of brands for the healthcare sector along with founding organisations such as Nourish and the Pink Brigade who help women and families affected by breast cancer through education about early detection and healthy lifestyle choices.  I returned to the UK in 2017 burnt out, exhausted and in need of healing myself.

After a year of reflection, I decided to stop working like a demon for other people and with the never-ending support of my husband, chose to focus entirely on the things that I truly loved to do.  My art, my photography, my writing, my music and my garden were almost lost to me and these were the things that I instinctively knew would help to bring me back to life again.  Life went from constant frantic, high level stress to peace and tranquillity almost overnight and it took me a while to adjust, learning how to breathe and how to embrace change without feelings of fear or guilt or failure.

As a natural storyteller, being close to nature once again and able to follow the seasonal rhythms or wheel of the year I re-discovered the magic again and began to fall in love with capturing these special moments of tranquillity and beauty with my camera.

My fine art portraiture mainly of children focuses on the essence of the child and I endeavour to capture a timeless image that not only tells a story, but that could be set in any period of time. 

Jessica: Can you tell me about where you find your inspiration? 

Julie: I am incredibly fortunate to live in a very old secluded house built in 1543 that is full of history and situated next to a river overlooking a wood.  It really is like Enid Blyton’s Enchanted Wood and I’m forever telling my daughter that the Magic Faraway Tree is in there somewhere! 

Inspiration is all around me.  I watch the sun rise over the wood and see it setting over the sheep field.  I hear the birdsong and the river, the heron, eagle and fox.  With the night, comes the owl song and other strange sounds I don’t recognise but that ignite my imagination.  And then there is the Moon.  Possibly the most constant celestial being of wonder and inspiration throughout my whole life and the thing that I love the most.

I read somewhere long, long ago that there was a thin veil between the world of men and the ‘other’ world of fairies, where animals and trees talk and enchantment is everywhere so I’ve always told my children that this is true and that all they need to do is look and listen very carefully.  The recent wonderful book ‘The Hidden Life of Trees’ by Peter Wholleben is testament to my theory and now I tell the kids I was right all along…

Music of course, is a total inspirational and I draw energy from my musical heroine, Kate Bush as well as giants from the world of classical music such as Rachmaninov, Chopin and Elgar.  Then again, ancient choral music, Celtic and folk, The Doors, soul, jazz, Bowie and Fleetwood Mac… the list goes on and on.

Jessica: I am also interested in knowing more about how you view creativity; is it something you can rely on every day?

Julie: For me, creativity is everywhere.  It is an energy with its own allure and is always present. One just has to look and listen hard enough.  Some of my best creative work has come to me in dreams.

Mindfulness is a great way to tap into internal creative reserves and artistic expression can be accessed in so many ways such as digital art, sound, singing, writing or storytelling.   It’s also worth noting that creativity can also spring from tragedy and disaster.  The horrifying destruction of our natural environment can inspire great creativity in thinking how to find solutions for preservation and restoration.  I am ever hopeful.

Jessica: How do you balance your interests?

Julie: I am usually up in the morning between 5am – 6am so that I can get a couple of hours quiet time in and plan the day ahead plus catch up on any admin that I’m behind with.  During the day and between the school run and dog walks, I’ll be busy shooting and then in the evenings, when the kids have gone to bed, I will focus on editing, more planning and research usually going to bed to read at around 9.30 – 10pm.

I am in the final stages of my OCN floristry course which I did at college to give me the practical knowledge and techniques needed to create amazing floral masterpieces to compliment my photography.  I also grow my own flowers at home to photograph and to style photoshoots.  Balancing my love of flowers and photography is a little tricky but I do believe that there is a marriage to be had between them. 

Jessica: Where do you work? What’s important about this environment?

Julie: I work from home mainly as I have my garden, photography and flower studio here plus it’s such a gorgeous spot I really couldn’t think of being anywhere else.  I have an elderly one-eyed pug, a rather eccentric sausage dog and the most handsome year-old black Labrador to care for too so it’s easy to walk over the river to the woods for some exercise.  It’s just amazing to see the wood and the garden evolve through the seasons as well as how the light changes them visually throughout the day.  The sounds and the smells fascinate me.

Jessica: What impact would you like to create with your work?

Julie: I would be privileged if my work inspired others to see the beauty and magic that I see in the simple things in life that are all around us but that sometimes, we are just too busy to notice.  The little intricate details that in themselves are so wonderful once you actually slow down and look, are inspiring in themselves.  I would hope it would inspire people to take more care with themselves and the natural world around us and to savour every day with gratitude.

 Jessica: And lastly, if someone reading your story were inspired to follow their own creative dream, what advice would you give them? 

Julie: It’s often the fear of change that prevents people from following their own heart and living an authentic, creative life.  We are all burdened with financial worries and are constantly bombarded with advertisements that encourage more and more consumerism with sinister algorithms tracking our every move on the internet and social media putting unbelievable pressure on the young to be perfect and live perfect lives.  However, changes can be made without destabilising and turning your world upside down! 

Instead of guillotining situations as I have done in the past to make instant changes, my advice would be to set aside some time in the day or night that you can claim as yours alone without distraction to think about the life you would choose to live and how you would choose to express your creative dream.  Then set a clear intention to make the change that you are seeking and truly believe that it will happen. See it crystal clear in your mind’s eye.  Map your intention out to a timeline and set realistic goals starting with simple, small changes first. Soon, you will find that when you stop to take stock periodically, you will notice the shift beginning to take place.  The smaller changes will empower and encourage you to move forwards with more confidence and a stronger belief that you really are the master of your own destiny.

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Find Julie’s website here, or check out her work on Facebook, Instagram or with Herbert Flowers.

“We work with people who aren’t scared to look at things differently, that want to make a difference and who are willing to go (a little) off grid.”

Find out more about Kim and Sally’s nomadic approach to design within their digital agency by watching the beautifully made video below…

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Check out the website here or find Off Grid on Instagram, Facebook and Twitter.

All images by Thomas Broadhead

Last month Anna Souter wrote a piece for the blog about the act of rewilding in anticipation of an exhibition she co-curated this month. Happily, she has decided to share some images from this exhibition with us so that although the exhibition only lasted a week, we can still enjoy exploring it here.

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Anna Souter is a writer and a curator. Together with artist Beatrice Searle, she co-curated the Rewind/Rewild exhibition and Rewilding Forum at OmVed Gardens, Highgate, North London.

Images by Annie Spratt

‘Rewilding’ is a word that’s become increasingly popular among those interested in discovering a more seasonal, wilder way of living. But what does it really mean?

Rewilding is a radical mode of conservation, which requires human beings to rescind control, step back and allow an ecosystem to restore its own balance. It means stopping practices such as burning heathland (known as ‘swaling’ in the west country), damming rivers, or allowing unnatural numbers of sheep, deer or ponies to graze. All these practices, while sometimes traditional, are intended not to help ecosystems thrive, but to give farmers more opportunities to feed their animals or till the soil.

Unfortunately, in Britain, many of our well-known landscapes have been over-grazed and ‘managed’ to within an inch of their lives, resulting in upland zones that lack any significant diversity of wildlife and are dominated by monocultures of bracken, heather and poor-quality grass. In most European nations with similar topography to Britain, however, these uplands are only lightly farmed and therefore mostly forested, which is the best environment for biodiversity.

Rewilding is, in essence, about bringing this diversity back to our landscapes. Life, we find, is not simply a linear chain of events, but networked, complex and – undeniably – beautiful. When nature is given a vote of confidence and allowed to pursue its own ends, the results can be spectacular. Rewilded places have the potential to captivate us. Fascinating lichens, fungi, butterflies, birds, rodents, reptiles and amphibians all have a chance to find a home again. Rewilded places offer something new with every visit, every change in season. In the biggest projects, we might have the chance to encounter a wild boar or a beaver, maybe even one day to spot a wolf on a distant ridge.

Not only would all this be thrilling, it would help us to live more wildly. Nowhere shows the changing seasons better than a wood. Seeing those tiny interactions between tree creeper and insect, frog and leaf-shade, weasel and burrow, would make us more mindful of our own connections to the living, breathing world around us. It would be ours for the looking, as well as its own to do as it liked.

I think rewilding would benefit both people and the planet – and I think we both need defending. A more reciprocal, sensitive form of conservation is only going to come out of conversation. We need to kick-start the debate. There are already a number of fantastic projects happening on a big scale – Summit to Sea in West Wales, for example, and the Alladale Wilderness Reserve in Scotland. Some of the big conservation charities have also got on board, albeit often quite cautiously. But there is still a long way to go – especially as rewilding can and should only happen with the full, informed consent of local communities.

There are misconceptions to overcome too. The idea of reintroducing wolves, for example, delights some people and terrifies others. But while species introduction is an element of rewilding, wolves would not be appropriate for most landscapes and would only ever be introduced to very sparsely populated environments. Mostly we’re talking about pine-martens and missing birds.

Moreover, many people who live in towns, or even in agricultural parts of the countryside, think rewilding isn’t relevant to them because it could only happen somewhere far off. But I hope that the distinction between urban and rural can be collapsed here, and that we can reintroduce wilder ways of living for all. Urban biodiversity is fascinating in its own right, and even the smallest plots in ‘rural’ areas can be seeded with wildflowers, or incorporate wildlife corridors.

As a curator and writer, I hope to bring people together to debate these issues and to work across the boundaries of disciplines and locations to find new solutions to the rewilding question.

There is a way of living more wildly, co-existing peacefully both with the natural world and with other people. But we need to collaborate to find it.

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Anna Souter is a writer and a curator. Together with artist Beatrice Searle, she is co-curating Rewind/Rewild, an upcoming exhibition and Rewilding Forum at OmVed Gardens, Highgate, North London.

Exhibition 1-7 May 2019. Rewilding Forum 4 May 2019.